Euthanasia
by Guldriod
Summary: Sirius Black, a very special someone, and a bit of a statement on my part. Infer as you will.
1. The Beginning of the End

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that J.K. Rowling owns. Unless you have a bone to pick about the original characters, I'd prefer it if you refrain from filing lawsuits.  
  
Euthanasia Chapter One: The Beginning of the End  
  
The Marauders had no reason to like her. She was a strange creature, introverted and soft-spoken, with a knack for carrying the quirkiest of conversation. But conversation with her was rare.  
  
For five years she had worn the same tied peasant blouse, the same grey arm warmers, the same black, lace-up boots, and, most notably, the same ruffled skirt. It strongly resembled a poorly kept antique from the Victorian Era, its lace shredded in layers, crinkled. Perhaps it had once been white. Now it was an impure shade, stained, and darkened in the crevices, especially at the bottom. Strands of it trailed behind her when she walked.  
  
'It was my grandmother, Epona's,' she explained to a brave young Hufflepuff two weeks into their first term, who had summoned the nerve to approach her and ask the question everyone wanted an answer to.  
  
'Well, why do you wear it?' asked a snobbish Slytherin girl with a disapproving glance below Stella's waist.  
  
She blinked. 'Why are eagles not chickens?'  
  
The Slytherin raised an eyebrow, but Stella simply smiled and presented her with a wildflower off the ground before skipping merrily away, golden locks bouncing around her waist.  
  
An occurrence such as this was not common, as the students had a tendency to avoid her. Teachers, on the other hand, enjoyed her peculiar wit and genial manner. The relationship between Professor Flitwick and her was particularly unusual. They would often discourse right in the middle of Charms, then laugh uproariously at a joke the other students never failed to miss entirely.  
  
None of them liked her.  
  
But none of them knew her either.  
  
Sirius Black had been watching her for a long time, five years actually...and never really decided whether he liked her or not. In class, he watched her deft fingers twirl her wand, then her dozen miss-matched necklaces jingle and gleam when she cast a spell. And she would turn her round, glassy owl eyes to meet his dark, intense ones. He would look quickly away, but she would not lift her blank gaze until he was thoroughly uncomfortable.  
  
It was a fine fall day; the air was crisp and carried the scent of leaves on a soft breeze. The sky was fair – neither a cloud nor a sun visible. The fifth years were embarking in the carriages for Hogwarts.  
  
Almost.  
  
She had caught his eye again. Another year of catching eyes.  
  
But this time was different. This time...this time she did something Sirius had never thought, yet always feared would happen.  
  
She approached him.  
  
'This one, let's go!' barked Sirius to James, Remus, and Peter. He walked hastily toward the empty carriage, motioning for them to follow, trying not to appear desperately hurried. But she drew closer with every bold step...the clunk of her boots on the platform echoed in his head...  
  
Still walking, Sirius glanced over his shoulder on the pretence of making sure the Marauders were behind him, and found, to his horror, that she was nowhere in sight.  
  
'I'm curious,' came an unfamiliar voice from directly in front of him, 'as to why you find me so interesting.'  
  
Sirius had almost run into her; she had come out of nowhere. Ignoring her question, he asked thickly, 'Did you just...?'  
  
'I can't Apparate,' she replied dryly.  
  
'You're fast.'  
  
'Thanks?' She sighed and asked her question again.  
  
Not wanting to be seen conversing with Stella Pendragon for too long, he was quick with his response.  
  
'I don't.' There was a pause. 'And stop staring at me in class,' he added bitterly, half-hoping his words would hurt her.  
  
But Stella Pendragon threw her head back and laughed loudly as Sirius gaped in bewilderment, her fair face twisted in a manic grin. Sirius couldn't take it – he dashed away, throwing a disgusted look back at her for the people watching.  
  
'Nutter, that one,' he muttered to his followers as he boarded the carriage.  
  
'I'm amazed you survived the encounter,' said James.  
  
In the Great Hall, various students approached Sirius throughout the course of the feast to ask him what had happened with him and Stella. To each he told a different story, and to each he spread mirth, causing the Gryffindor table to be alive with breathless laughter, red faces, and simple talk.  
  
Stella sat alone at the Ravencaw table, hiding behind a curtain of dirty blond hair that fell to the bench. She gnawed on a chicken leg as she eavesdropped on the local conversation, and focused on keeping her eyes averted. Not this year, she told herself. Not another year's round of thoughts wasted on Sirius Black. But out of an overwhelming curiosity, she eventually lifted her stare to Sirius two tables away, and watched him revel in his popularity. She had grown skilled at this kind of multi- tasking, which came in useful when watching Marauders. She knew a lot about them, probably more than they knew themselves. She had studied their behaviour, their development, their relationship: putting their puzzle together – using information, mostly within conversation, as her pieces. It was a sort of hobby to her. Stella liked to read books, write stories, ride horses, sing, play piano, and study the stars, but observing people proved to be her favourite pastime of all, especially with the Marauders so conveniently located in most of her classes.  
  
Sirius Black was, without a doubt, her favourite. His temerity and fierce intelligence enthralled her day after day. She admired his cleverness, quick wit, and courageous and energetic spirit. It didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes; with dark, handsome features, and a face of haughty nobility: pronounced cheekbones and jaw line, a strong nose, deep- set eyes, black and fathomless, and full lips constantly twisted into a smirk.  
  
Something boiled inside her as she watched him now: talking, laughing, drinking, talking. It was something she didn't want to stifle. Part of her hoped she wouldn't look at her, for then she would have to look away, but the other part wanted him to meet her gaze.  
Pathetic wishes, she told herself.  
  
'She probably fancies you,' said James through a mouthful of pudding.  
  
'Indeed,' Imogene intervened, 'and too socially inept to realise how far out of her league you are.' Imogene was the sort of person who delighted in placing people in social 'leagues'.  
  
With a casual wave of his hand Sirius flicked a straight strand of black hair from his eyes. 'If she has a "league".' He snuck a glance at the Ravenclaw table. It took him a while to spot her; she wasn't exactly noticeable. But there they were: the owl eyes flicking downward.  
  
He almost turned and announced she was staring at him again, but instead clamped his mouth shut and looked back at her.  
  
Sadness.  
  
He saw it now. It was buried in every smooth crevice of her face, clinging to every limp strand of hair, etched in each freckle across her nose. He saw it in the way she hunched her shoulders, in her fork as it dully prodded cold potatoes. It was deep within her eyes, past the blank stare, both deep and shallow – the stare. All he had ever seen of her. A stare colourless. Flat.  
  
'Padfoot? Oi, Padfoot!'  
  
'What?'  
  
'You going to eat that?'  
  
'Take it.'  
  
Peter shoved the roll in his face. 'You know,' he said, chewing, 'I bet Stella Pendragon hasn't ev-'  
  
'Shut it, Wormtail,' barked Sirius.  
  
'Yeah, it's dead,' said James.  
  
'You killed it,' chimed Imogene.  
  
There was a bit of silence, and Sirius was glad. He felt as though he had just had some kind of rude awakening, and needed time to let it sink in.  
  
Stella plodded up the marble staircase that night – stuffed and lethargic. People walked past her, talking, laughing, talking. A boy ran into her. She turned and apologised for him being too busy cutting down some girl to watch where he was going. He neither saw nor heard her, let alone give the rightful apology.  
  
There was a group huddled not by, but across the opening to the corridor she had to enter. 'Excuse me,' she tapped a girl on the shoulder. 'Oh, sorry!' the girl said quickly, and shifted about two inches to her left. 'I need to get by,' explained Stella hastily. The girl gave no indication of even hearing her.  
  
Frustrated, Stella backtracked to take another route. She found an empty corridor, and marched down it gratefully, her robes billowing behind her.  
  
'Those sound like Stella Pendragon's boots!' came an all-too familiar voice from the depths of the dark hall.  
  
Stella stifled a groan. 'Accursed waders, my identity is revealed! How doth thou fare in these early days of autumn, Mai of the Aelhaearn?'  
  
'Why do you still talk like that? It's so weird!'  
  
Stella stared at Mai stolidly as she emerged from the darkness, and decided this was not worth responding to. Mai's beady grey eyes were only visible due to the chunks of cheap makeup that lined them, supposedly to enhance their plainness, but Stella thought they would be far lovelier without all the rubbish caked in the sparse lashes, or anywhere for that matter. Mai had dark, curly hair – pulled back much too tightly, and thick eyebrows, never to be plucked.  
  
Stella had nothing to say to fill the silence, so she happily let it sit. If there had to be small talk, she would leave it to Mai. It was Mai's specialty after all.  
  
'Where are you going?' asked Mai.  
  
'The dormitory,' Stella answered shortly.  
  
'Why? It's so early. People are still wandering the halls...'  
  
'Then why don't you go join them?'  
  
Mai shrugged. 'Viviane's being a bitch. She ran off with Dylan and the others.'  
  
'Yeah, real bitchy. Heaven forbid you should be left on your own to amuse yourself. Lucky you found me, right? Now you won't be seen wandering without social interaction. What discomfiture that would be!'  
  
'I know!'  
  
Stella laughed harshly. Trust Mai to miss the point.  
  
'I totally can't amuse myself...I'm like...'  
  
Stella waited, smirking. 'Like what?'  
  
'Huh?'  
  
'Right. I have to go. Farewell, Mai of the Aelhaern. Have a pleasant, sociable ev – '  
  
'Erm – alright...'  
  
Stella walked ahead. Mai was wandering close behind, but they did not speak, as Stella had already said goodbye.  
  
It was...very awkward; at least for Mai.  
  
'Erm...' Mai said loudly.  
  
Stella kept walking, smiling acidly at Mai's discomfort.  
  
'Eh hem!'  
  
Stella turned sharply, her face bursting into a look of surprise. 'Mai! Fancy meeting you here! How have you been?'  
  
Mai gave her a wry, wide-eyed look. 'Fine,' she said thickly. 'Erm, I'm...sort of going in the same direction so...do you think we should walk together?'  
  
Stella pretended to consider this for a moment, then she shook her head, forcing an overly-apologetic look.  
  
She turned and strode back down the hall, humming so as to drown out Mai's protests. Eventually, the girl gave up and left to find attention elsewhere. Stella laughed victoriously.  
  
Sirius would not admit the reason for his excessively wandering eye. He was looking for her, and he alone was the person to know that.  
  
But James Potter was no idiot.  
  
'What's got you so interested in her?'  
  
'In who?'  
  
'Pendragon. And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.'  
  
'Well what do you mean by "interested"?'  
  
James laughed. 'I'm not talking about sexually, dimwit! It's just...why do you care?'  
  
'I don't.'  
  
'Padfoot. Shut-up and tell me.'  
  
'I can't do both.'  
  
'Then the latter.'  
  
Sirius sighed. It was no use. 'She looked so...' James raised his eyebrows expectantly. 'She looked so sad tonight...at the banquet.'  
  
'So?'  
  
Sirius hesitated. He couldn't explain what he saw, so why try? James was growing more impatient by the moment. Sirius kept waiting for James's attention to wander, as it usually did when faced with a conversation that wasn't going anywhere. Helpfully, Lily Evans could not have picked a better time to walk by.  
  
With an, 'Oi, Evans!', James was gone. For the first time, Sirius was grateful for this. 


	2. To Be So Alone

Chapter 2: To Be So Alone  
  
The morning dawned cold and rainy; the wind came in little gusts, penetrating the stone walls bare of tapestries. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were all too aware of the icy drafts as they made their way down to the dungeons after an early breakfast, clutching their cloaks tight about them.  
  
Stella's boots, seemingly filled with lead, made quite a bit of noise plodding down the crooked stone steps. She nearly tripped over the black laces slithering around her feet as symbols of her lethargy. She had rolled out of bed having slept no more than an hour total: typical. Lusting after the sweet solace and solitude of slumber incessantly, her mind's active performance in the darkest hours of night affirmed her curse.  
  
She blamed it on the stars.  
  
So tired, she sometimes wondered if she had not awoken at all, considering the fact that no one looked at her as she passed. When she smiled, no one smiled back. When she spoke, no one heard. No one listened. When she wrote, no one read.  
  
Likewise, no one looked up when she entered the dungeon classroom. Gazing around, she tried to make eye contact with someone, anyone, but all eyes averted from hers. Stella looked down at herself and touched her waist to make sure she existed. Hipbones poked her palms beneath the thick black robes. Yes, she was there. Her angelic face glanced back at her from within a cauldron of water.  
  
'Good morning!' she called out into the classroom experimentally. Some people glanced up as though an insect were buzzing in close proximity, but made no more of it. Many had ignored her.  
  
Frustrated, she said, 'Good morning!' more loudly. Usually she would have been too drained to pursue courtesy, but a kind of disgust had come over her. She had a point to make, though she couldn't count on the others getting it.  
  
'Good morning!' some irritated voices yelled back at her, suggesting anything but goodness. Her chest swelled angrily, and she was about to march to her usual seat in the corner when a voice in her ear halted every thought and pending movement.  
  
'Good morning,' it said deeply, just over a whisper. It did not sound annoyed, mocking, or even forced – but simply civil.  
  
The tall frame of Sirius Black brushed past her shoulder, and she shuddered slightly in spite of herself. Staring at his back, she now thought of mockery. Why should he be kind to her? He never had been. He had no more reason to than anybody else.  
  
Professor Irving entered the classroom from her office via a thick wooden door lined with iron that made a bone-chilling screech as it scraped against the stone floor upon opening and closing. Irving had never acknowledged the noise – hearing it twelve times a day – but even the fifth years failed to grow accustomed to it, and cringed whenever she entered.  
  
'What?' she would then say, touching her face in mock self-consciousness. This joke was rather funny, as most saw her as a very beautiful woman. She bore the dark, noble features of Black, having married out of the family. Her raven hair fell about her like a second cloak, clasped in the back by a silver serpent. It was the kind of hair that was so perfectly straight that one could run a fine-toothed comb through it at the speed of light without encountering the slightest snag, despite its length. She glided about the dungeons wraith-like, embodying the grace of darkness and the intricate wisdom that lingered in shadow, waiting for the wandering student to unlock its secrets.  
  
'Good morning, everyone,' said Irving in a dusky voice that made Stella think of black satin and dew drops. Mist curled outward from perfect lips as Irving spoke into the chill of the dungeons, giving instructions for the day's potion. 'Today we will be making the Draft of Peace, a potion that will give its drinker a temporary sense of well-being, in case that somehow wasn't obvious. It is often used as an antidote for intense and unnecessary worry. Though the affect may sound simple, the process with which to gain it is not...at all. I've found that students tend to have trouble with it, so you're probably wondering why I'm not saving it till later in the year. The Draft of Peace in an O.W.L. standard, very tricky. Testing officials love it. You don't need to perfect its concoction yet, but I want you to grow familiar with it now so that we can continue improving your skills as the year progresses. Come O.W.L.s, you'll have this down flawlessly.  
  
'For those of you who have read ahead, can you name any of the ingredients that make up the Draft?'  
  
Silence.  
  
'No one?' Black eyes flashed in Sirius' direction. 'I'm sure my little cousin can.'  
  
Black eyes flashed back. The smirk grew more pronounced. 'Essence of hellebore,' he muttered in a bored tone. Girls' heads turned.  
  
Stella's didn't. He wondered why...  
  
James guffawed. ''Cause you read ahead.'  
  
'Maybe I do,' said Sirius, putting down the sarcasm.  
  
'Pff, yeah!'  
  
'Alright, that's enough,' said Irving, waving a slender white hand with its darkly-painted nails. 'Sirius is right, hellebore is crucial to the Draft of Peace.' Turning swiftly on her heel, she slid over to the chalkboard and took out her wand. With a flick the chalk rose up and began writing the ingredients as Irving explained how and when to administer each to the cauldron.  
  
The other students took our their notes and copied Irving's words frantically, but Sirius folded his arms and listened, absorbing and storing every bit of information as he glared at the back of Stella Pendragon's head. So she had not spared him a glance since the beginning of class, what did it matter to him? He had just grown so used to it. Perhaps he found it flattering, and perhaps he counted on having that particular person's attention in every class they shared.  
  
Soon, the fact that it bothered him bothered him more than what was doing the initial bothering. In the middle of trying to explain away his feelings, he realised he had been neglecting to listen to Irving. There was always that risk when one refused to take out quill and parchment. But then there was always the risk of being too busy taking notes to really retain what was being said. Explain away everything, Sirius thought, rubbing his face tiredly.  
  
'Am I boring you, Sirius Black?' Irving hissed threateningly.  
  
'Of course not,' Sirius responded. He was going to add 'Brenda Irving', but held his tongue.  
  
'Then you've been listening,' she challenged.  
  
'For the most part.'  
  
'Very well then: what must I do to the moonstone before mixing?'  
  
'Grind it.'  
  
'Why?'  
  
'To diffuse the properties.'  
  
'That?'  
  
'That...that balance out the rest of the ingredients, especially the poisonous ones.'  
  
'Significance?'  
  
Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'From what I've heard, it's rather difficult to gain peace by drinking poison.'  
  
'Sarcasm is the lowest form of humour, Mr. Black. You may see me after class.'  
  
James and Sirius exchanged a look once her back was turned. Remus shook his head and added to his notes, while Peter stared out the window.  
  
'I'll be assigning groups today since we must use the class cauldrons for this Draft. The volume it requires exceeds that of your personal cauldrons, and since many of these ingredients are rare and costly, namely moonstones, I simply cannot provide them for every single one of you. As such, whilst on the subject of balancing things out, I'd like to pair up Sirius Black and Stella Pendragon.'  
  
Deep down, Sirius had had a feeling this would happen, but shock took him nonetheless. Aimlessly, he asked himself why – why things like this happened. He also asked himself why people believed in coincidence.  
  
With her, it seemed like there was no such thing.  
  
Irving continued to assign partners to cauldrons while Sirius reclined on his stool, waiting for her to come to him.  
  
Waiting in vain.  
  
Keeping her back to him, she picked up her notes and walked straight over to the cauldron by the window through which Peter had been staring, and sat down on a lower stool next to the small table where everything they would need was laid out. She set to work assembling tools and arranging ingredients, waiting for no one.  
  
With a sigh, Sirius rose and stretched lazily, flicking the black strands from his eyes and striding casually over to where Stella sat, head bent over her work.  
  
Now would be the time to say something, he thought. It felt so much like breaking the ice, something he had never had a problem with, but something he simply could not manage to do at this point in time.  
  
After standing there stupidly for several seconds more, a straight- forward voice emerged from the curtain of golden locks: 'Hi.'  
  
'...Hi...'  
  
'Don't suppose you'd like to give me a hand with this?'  
  
'Er – sure.'  
  
She handed him a mortar and pestle, followed by a heavy silver orb. 'Since you know so much about moonstones,' she explained.  
  
'Right.' He sat down and began grinding the stone, which proved to be a less-than-easy task, and was worsened by her observing his progress from time to time.  
  
Once all the ingredients were measured and put in their proper tubes and flasks, Stella wiped her hands and craned her neck over to his side of the table. An amused expression crossed her face.  
  
'What?'  
  
'You didn't have to grind the whole thing.'  
  
'Well you could have told me that!'  
  
'Well you could have taken notes!'  
  
Sirius glared. Who was she to deride him like she knew him personally? 'How do you know I wasn't? I didn't see your prying eye turn my way once this class. Shocking, really...'  
  
'There was no need. You've proved yourself rather predictable, Mr. Black. Cyaneus incendio.'  
  
'Wha - ?'  
  
A hoard of bluebell flames shot out from the tip of Stella's wand beneath the cauldron. At Sirius' look of fleeting bewilderment, she said, 'Perhaps you can explain why the fire must be blue in spite of your inability to listen to the teacher. You seem to be rather good at finding the answers you were never given.'  
  
'In other words, I'm rather good with this new thing called common sense. If you bore an ounce of it perhaps you wouldn't have shouted at your fellow students this morning to their extreme annoyance.'  
  
Stella pursed her lips, and stared searchingly into his eyes. 'I'm not sure you understand me, Mr. Black.'  
  
Her eyes were so clear, Sirius noted, clear like southern waters, but deep like primordial seas – bearing ancient secrets. He thought that if, perhaps, he stared into those limpid pools hard enough, he would see her soul.  
  
What kept him from doing so now? Well, if the passage was not cloudy, perhaps the end was. He didn't want to see the end.  
  
Not yet.  
  
'We sure are talkative over here, aren't we?' came the silky voice of Irving drifting over the smoke. 'But then,' she enlightened herself, 'human error is inevitable when it comes to measuring, and uneven quantities sometimes allow the bolder solution to overpower the more passive one.'  
  
'If I may, Professor,' Stella cut in, 'it is also possible for said inevitable human error to cause the potion-maker to overestimate certain properties in a solution, or miscalculate how they react when mixed with certain other solutions.'  
  
Irving narrowed her eyes. 'What are you trying to say, Pendragon?'  
  
'I initiated the conversation. Apologies, we'll work now.'  
  
The corners of Irving's mouth twitched, and the eyes flickered beneath the shadows of her eyelids. 'Very good.'  
  
Once she was out of earshot, Sirius turned back to Stella questioningly. She shrugged and added a pinch of powdered moonstone, then checked her watch.  
  
'We need to add a dash about every nine seconds,' she told him. 'I'll put you in charge of that. I need to monitor the heat.' She slid off her stool and knelt by the blue fire, prodding it with her wand.  
  
But Sirius's mind was elsewhere.  
  
'Why do you not think I understand you? Or did you just say that to make me think there's more to you than you let on?'  
  
'Only the self-centered long to be enigmatic,' she informed him. 'Or the very – 'she paused, in search of the correct word, '– uncomfortable.'  
  
'What do you mean by that? Uncomfortable...'  
  
'Moonstone.'  
  
'What?'  
  
She threw a pinch in for him.  
  
'Let me ask you this: have you ever felt like hiding? Like you didn't want anyone to see you because you didn't like how you felt - how you felt about yourself?'  
  
Sirius shifted his eyes. 'No, I'm pretty sure I haven't.'  
  
'Of course you haven't.'  
  
'What are you trying to say?'  
  
She leaned forward, her face stricken and her glassy eyes wider than ever. 'What I'm trying to say, Sirius of Black, is that some people like to know they exist, because otherwise they think they shouldn't. Do you understand that?'  
  
He eased his eyes away from hers – to the table top. He felt the connotation of her words like poison, but further he pondered the several ways he could interpret them. In the meantime, he tried to look impassive, like she had not struck a single chord within him.  
  
But she knew she had, as it was she who had to keep adding the moonstone. 


	3. Not Enough

Chapter 3: Not Enough

A fresh feeling lifted her steps higher and quicker than usual as she made her way down the dark, narrow corridor to the gate. Dirt and ground pebbles crunched beneath her boots like sand. The walkway had once been a canal: a tributary off a presently nonexistent moat that had surrounded the castle in the days of old. But many years prior to Stella Pendragon's inhabitance of Hogwarts, it had been magically drained into the lake to provide students with a more convenient passage from the dungeons to the west grounds.

Stella had risen that morning with little to no intention of having a conversation with anyone, and somehow she had just exchanged more words with the man she admired than she ever had with any other student at Hogwarts. But could she even call him a man? There was such a boyish curiosity in the way he interrogated her – innocent with some kind of selfish ambition behind the mask. But then, she considered, she could possibly have been imagining it.

As a matter of fact, for all she knew she could have been imagining the entire discussion. It was not uncommon for her to naturally formulate dialogue in her mind between herself and someone she felt strongly about. How many times had she done this with Marauders? Too often to claim sanity. But sanity, who needed such a trait?

Giddy. That was how she felt. Giddy with a kind of self-satisfaction at having gone through an entire conversation with Sirius Black and not having made a fool of herself once. Perhaps he had even liked her. No, impossible. She replayed everything over and over, analyzed his responses, his facial expressions, his body language, the tones in his voice; anything she could grab a hold of and twist to her liking. For an analytical and emotional person who rarely converses with others, a word or two or a passing glance could be enough to consume nearly an hour's worth of thought and feeling. But excessive banters? A complete session of question/answer? It was more than she could handle in that single moment when her fist hauled on the thick chain and sent the gate upward with a deafening crash of iron on stone.

Some squeals of alarm emitted from the darkness far behind her. Mai and Viviane or some Gryffindor girls, most likely. Stella rushed into the crisp fall air, letting the wind lift the golden locks to dance around her beaming face. The burning smell of leaves warmed her insides, and their crunch was satisfying beneath her feat.

Care of Magical Creatures was a fine class to have that morning. It would allow her to think, to dwell on the morning's occurrences around the fine cauldron by that fine window. The fire under the cauldron had not come from her wand, but from his eyes. Did he pierce everyone with that gaze?

She sincerely hoped not.

Approaching the pine grove, she walked swiftly to keep up with her thoughts, and avoided the others descending from the upper levels of the castle via stairs down the hills: rolling hills, dense with the strange weeds in their various hues of jade, and with the shadows of students' robes swaying over the firmament like the wings of owls over wind.

Professor Kettleburn summoned the Ravenclaws and Slytherins toward him with those strong, worn hands that had tamed so many beasts. They filed almost soundlessly into the grove, the ground softened by layers of pine needles, and sat on the various stumps scattered throughout. Stella, naturally, sat on her usual stump; the one at the edge – behind the others. It wasn't very comfortable, but its location proved ideal when it came to avoiding being called upon to answer questions or, worse yet, interacting with an animal in front of the class. Teachers tended to ignore the shadows so long as the shadows didn't ignore them.

'Alright, settle down,' Kettleburn's voice boomed. He strode into a patch of sunlight in the centre of the clearing, hazel eyes scanning the students under a heavy brow. 'Fifth years, yeah? Welcome back. If you don't remember me, they call me Professor Kettleburn. You can too. Now, I run the show. Any questions, comments, concerns, suggestions – you come to me. Got it?' He raised his eyebrows; hands clasped behind his back, and stared around. There were some nods. 'Good job.'

Stella rolled her eyes.

'Hey Professor...' A familiar hand and voice shot into the air.

'Yes, Black?'

'Did you ever find those ashwinder eggs?'

Kettleburn threw his head back in a hearty guffaw. 'Of course! Took me half the summer, but they couldn't just sit there festering, waiting for the opportunity to burn the forest down!'

Regulus Black looked genuinely disappointed.

Sirius Black, as it turned out, was also in low spirits. He was more like his brother than he cared to admit, and a great deal more than the outsider would affirm. Sirius was the rebel, without a doubt; Regulus – the family's boy, the hope in his parents' lives. He was the hope for a continued legacy of genocidal Muggle-haters bent on destroying every last remain of the unworthy from this magical world that they so honoured and cherished. Their cause was strong and moral, and thus according to Mr. and Mrs. Black of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, so was little Regulus.

Sirius dwelled on this often. He hated it, and hated the fact that he hated it. Sometimes the pressure was so intense he wished he weren't different; that he too was blinded by deep-rooted hatred, the kind that swam in the blood of his fathers. What difference could he make anyway? The world was going down as this Dark Lord came to power with the help of his own family.

He doodled a rough sketch of Stella Pendragon tying a serpent in a knot, though he wasn't sure why. It wasn't like she could help him. Sniggering, he took great amusement in wondering how less like Stella-Pendragon-tying-a-serpent-into-a-knot it could look.

'Mr. Black, what – may I ask – is so humourous about dwarfish characters of the third century?'

'Nothing at all, sir.'

'Exactly.' Professor Gillespie strode over to Sirius's desk and snatched the parchment. He squinted at it over his glasses, holding it close to his face. Then he turned it sideways and did the same; then upside down. Sirius prayed he wouldn't decide it looked like something objectionable.

After tossing it disdainfully back onto the desk, Gillespie turned on a heal and strode back to the front of the room, speaking loudly as he went, 'I cannot comprehend your notes, Mr. Black, but I sure hope you can. I'll be giving a quiz on this material next class. Come prepared to both write and decipher. Homework will entail a full four feet describing the makeup of the language and what the runes can tell us about ancient dwarfish culture in the highlands - due next class for an accuracy grade. I'm not taking late papers.'

A bell tolled in a far-off belfry half an hour later and the students headed downstairs for lunch. Sirius wondered why he had agreed to take Ancient Runes with Moony rather than Divination with Prongs and Wormtail. Maybe there he wouldn't have had an obnoxious teacher.

But then, all teachers tend to be obnoxious when there is a lot on your mind.

'I bet you found that awfully interesting,' Sirius taunted Remus as they made their way down the marble staircase to join the throng chatting in the entrance hall, waiting on friends from other classes to sit with.

Remus snorted. 'Awful? Yes. Interesting? Not so much.'

'Why the hell did we take this stupid class then if even we don't like it?'

'_I do_ like it. I like it when we study runes that suggest some form of intelligence. Dwarfs, as it seems, were incredibly dull, especially when it came to their written language. They should have stayed in the mines where they undoubtedly belonged.'

'Sure, Moony,' Sirius yawned. He had not had much sleep the night before, but he didn't know why.

Stella strolled toward the jagged stone steps that led to the Great Hall high above, running her finger along the ruins as she passed. They protruded from the ground at odd angles and bore strange markings of long ago. Professor Gillespie of Ancient Runes had told her that if she took her textbook and a bit of time and sat in front of them deciphering the characters, she would discover secrets of the castle and grounds long forgotten. Little did he know that she certainly planned on doing this, she just wasn't sure when or how. There was little time for such activity during the daylight hours, plus she didn't want to be seen. But there was also no way for her to sneak out of the castle at night, unless of course she somehow came across an invisibility cloak or something, which was ridiculous to even daydream about. But oh, the possibilities...

The entrance hall was crowded, bustling with chattering students finding their friends and catching up on the latest social and academic happenings of the morning. Stella was still feeling the effects of the Fwooper the students had been assigned to place a Silencing Charm upon. Stella, of course, hadn't been called on, and hadn't used her wand once that period, but like any other students she had heard the bird's song and would have been teetering on the brink of insanity if Regulus Black had not taken a stand and silenced it moments before. He was like Sirius in this way.

While thinking of him, her stomach flip-flopped as he approached, surrounded by his usual horde of friends, and Imogene giggling something in his ear. A pang of jealousy struck her, and she cursed her own emotions. What did it matter? _Imogene was simple company, _she thought._ It's not like he sees anything in her, and clinging to his arm all the time must get irritating._ But then, there was his ego to consider. It would take time, persistence, and carefully placed words to persuade him that leeches were actually bad and ugly, and needed to be picked off, or else all blood would be sucked.

He was approaching her, and...and looking at her. She would have to think of something to say, quickly! Imogene was now looking at her too. As were James and Remus, Remus almost sympathetically. Or...or better yet, any second now Sirius will shout something, something she could respond to with a quick quip. Gathering her wits, she...

She panicked, and averted her eyes. No one said anything, but passed awkwardly silent. Moments after, and the two forces were behind one another, Imogene's laughter burst forth and spilled over like froth from beer._ Nerves_, Stella thought, then smirked at her private jokes. _Weak-minded mortal._

Not that she really felt strong-minded or immortal, let alone both. She felt pathetic, lost, a dolt who couldn't handle the simple fact that she just wasn't interesting enough to Sirius Black to make him talk to her in front of his friends. Alright, interesting - maybe when no one else was around. Not _cool_ enough. Better.

Whatever the hell 'cool' was.


End file.
